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I’ve never really but much truck in jinxes, or quirky twists of fate, but I’m struggling to convince myself that I haven’t jinxed myself all over again.

It seems that whenever I talk about what projects I’ve got going on and what I’m getting accomplished and what I hope to achieve, I take a huge dip in the form the next day.  It happened back in March/April when I was excited about pushing forward after Laughter for Life, and it’s happened again this week, after I proclaimed my success at getting back to writing.

Ironic, really, I suppose, considering I wrote so specifically on the ups and downs of life and how I could cope with whatever was being thrown at me.  People call it tempting fate, something I’ve never really agreed with, but am starting to question my conviction.

The concerning thing about times like this is that you never quite know where it’s going.  It’s the same for most things in life, I suppose, but it seems all the more important when reserves are low and the littlest molehill can so rapidly escalate to the mightiest mountain.

The last couple of days I’ve been under the weather – nothing too drastic, just very tired, low on energy and slightly achey.  My head is swimming a bit with a feeling like I’m getting a cold, but I know that it’s more than likely just hay-fever, which I suffer from every year and always starts out feeling like I’m getting a cold.

So more than likely, there’s nothing really wrong at the moment – my chest, although slightly more productive than usual, isn’t causing me significant problems, and the only real “symptom” of anything wrong is a little glandular swelling, which is more than likely hay-fever related.

That knowledge, however, doesn’t work to exclude the possiblity that things could be on a downward slope.  More often than not, in the past, all this would hang around for a few days and make me feel a little rubbish, then sort itself out and go away.  Now, though, everything carries a greater significance.

It’s hard, at times like these, not to worry about what comes next, but at the same time, my mind is bugged by the knowledge that the more positive I stay, the less likely anything is to take hold and drag me down for proper.  I don’t want to sound like a crazy “mind-over-matter” nut-job, but I strongly believe that your mind can influence your body in more significant ways than people always consider.

So I’m spending my time at the moment in bed, resting, trying to take on as many calories and possible and make sure that whatever has got me on a slow-down doesn’t become something which puts me at a stop.

Believe me, it’s amazing myself as much as anything, but so far this week, I’ve exceeded my target of 6 pages a day three days in a row – how brilliant is that?

I’ve no idea where this sudden glut of motivation or inspiration has come from, but suddenly things seem to have developed their own sense of momentum and I’m rolling along at a cracking pace and really enjoying myself, too.

It’s not just my new script that’s coming on leaps and bounds.

Live Life Then Give Life is still going strong, expanding all the time and the team behind it has grown and solidified into a (hard)core of people dedicated to improving organ donation in this country.  It’s a privilege to be involved with such a great campaign and group of people, who all work incredibly hard and really spur each other on to greater and greater things.

National Transplant Week, set up and run by Transplants in Mind (TiM) is in July and we’re all working feverishly to see what ways we can come up with to publicise it and raise as much awareness as we can.

There’s also the new issure of CF Talk which is coming together really nicely and now sits with the designers, who are currently working their very particular brand of magic on it.  I love the work our designers do on the mag and this is always the most exciting stage of an issue for me, where I hand them the copy and they come back a week or so later with some cracking imagery.

What’s always really funny about the whole process is that they are fantastically open to comments and ideas on all of the stuff they do, but there’s so rarely anything I want to change with the stuff they come up with it almost always goes to print identically to the first draft version I get sent through.  I suppose it’s a perfect illustration of a team working in harmony together to get all the elements looking their best.

I weary at the moment that it is almost always when things are rolling along at their best that the trip-ups tend to come.  But at the same time, knowing the up-and-down nature of my health at the moment, it seems all the more reason to enjoy doing all of these things while I can without fretting about the “what ifs” or the “what’s coming next”.

I suppose it’s something akin to parents trying to wrap their children in cotton wool. If you never allow your child to go out in the garden and play in the mud and put themselves at risk of germs and all the things children come into contact with then they may very well not get ill and stay more healthy than other children, but they also lose a large chunk of what it is to be a child – to explore the world and find out first hand that mud is mucky and worms don’t taste very nice.

And so it is for me at the moment.  I could easily shut myself away in my bedroom and rest 24/7, spending my days eating, sleeping and doing treatments.  But I don’t want to look back at this time pre-transplant when I’ve finally had my op and think of all the things I missed out on because I was too worried about what would happen next.

If a downturn is coming, then so be it – I’ll take it on the chin and ride it out like all the others.  I hope I can stave it off and continue to enjoy the good side of life.  But whatever happens, it’s not going to stop me doing the things that mean something to me.

You know me – I’m really not a mean and nasty person, and they say you should be careful who you tread on when you’re going up lest you pass them again on your way down.

Since I very much hope I’m still on the way up, and since I very much hope that I’ve got lots more publicity left in me, I’ve ducked my head back below the parapet and removed all references to the exact publication I was referring to yesterday.

I know, I know, I’m weak and feeble and shouldn’t give a flying one about what people think of me, but the way I look at it is this: in the coming months I’m going to be looking to do a lot more awareness raising of Transplant and Organ Donation and I want as many people on-side as possible.  Surely a petty (albeit nicely amusing) rant about the quality of a paper’s stories shouldn’t get in the way of that.

At least now they’re not likely to find it on a random google search of the name and I shouldn’t find myself blacklisted next time the wonderful Paula sends out an immaculate press release she’s authored on my behalf.

I shudder to think of the low esteem some fellows writers and bloggers would feel about me reading this, but I suppose that’s just who I am – I need to be liked by everyone because I’m a very insecure and shallow person.  So there.

On the up side, I’ve had  some great ideas for promotion and publicity as well as a few short films and other projects I might just have on the burners right now.  Who knows what’ll become of them – and I’m not going to detail them here just yet, because we all know what happened last time I did that – but we’ll wait it out and see.

The sun took a long time to come out today.  I’m hoping it does better tomorrow.

It’s been a bit of a gap again since I last posted – I seem to have lost my blogging momentum, although I have a feeling it’s because the evenings are much harder for me now than they were. I used to write my blog posts right before I went to bed at 10 or 11 at night, but now I’m usually struggling quite a bit with breathlessness by then and sitting at the computer is about the last thing I want to do with my bed calling me.

Still, I’m sure I’ll work myself back into a groove somewhere.

I had intended to sit here this morning and launch off into another rant about Allied Respiratory (yup, still rubbish) but I’m not sure I can summon the energy or the bile to do it proper justice. I’m doing so well at the moment in terms of energy levels, happiness and all-round doing-things-ness that it seems silly to waste any of it venting my fury at Allied. And it’s such a glorious sunny day outside that I don’t want to spoil it with grumpiness.

I will say, however, that yesterday I was not quite for circumspect or forgiving when they failed to turn up with my oxygen delivery for the 2nd working day in a row. Having expected it on Friday, only to have it moved to Monday (that’s a weekend with no spare O2) and then pushed back another 24-hours yesterday, I was seething. Particularly as no one from Allied deigned to call me to tell me.

The way they treat their patients/customers/fools is completely reprehensible. When I phoned to ask about my delivery at 3pm and asked if anyone had been likely to call me to tell me not to wait in for it, I got a nice, curt, “No, I don’t expect so, not at this time in the afternoon.” Cheers guys.

Do they honestly think that just because I’m transplant-listed and dependent on 24-hour oxygen I don’t have anything better to do with my time than wait around for cylinders of oxygen to let me leave my house? It’s pathetic.

Anyway, I took it upon myself to draft them a letter expressing my regretful displeasure at the standards of the service they were offering and I eagerly await their response. Not that I’m expecting them to do anything.

But I’m not going to let that dominate things today (well, not unless they fail to deliver this morning and mean that I have to scrabble to find K an alternative lift to her appointment in Northampton which I’d not have enough oxygen to run her to). Instead, I’m going to enjoy looking out at the sunshine and contemplating the next move in my rather unhurried life.

The last week or so has been quite nice, as I’ve had nothing really to do or to focus on, having not come to any conclusion as to what I’m tackling next. I’ve just knuckled down to finishing off the next CF Talk, but most of the copy for that should be done by the end of the week.

I know, though, that if I don’t pick myself a project soon, I’m going to drift off into a little no-man’s-land of indecision and boredom and get into a vicious circle of boredom/tiredness/negativity.

The best thing about the last couple of weeks has been finally working out the ins and outs of my body as it is at the moment and finding the balance between activity and rest – knowing what I can and can’t manage and how to deal with whatever exertion I do undertake without running myself into the ground. It’s been a much longer and trickier learning process that last time I was doing it back in December, but I finally feel like I’ve grasped it now. Famous last words, I know, so keep your fingers crossed.

Now I’m off to sit and watch the clock tick round till Allied turns up with today’s delivery.

Two days of lying in bed and doing NOTHING at all actually did the trick and I am now able to sit in my study and actually comtemplate work.

I say “comtemplate” because we all know (or at the very least we should all know by now) that I’m the world’s number one procrastinator and can find a way to weedle out my time sat in front of my computer better than anyone else in the whole wide, entire world.

As it happens, I have achieved a lot of “work” today by checking and sending emails.  These consist largely of sending ideas out to people for possible projects/ideas for collaborations which I’m hoping to get off the ground.

The Youth Theatre experience has taught me that being house-bound and energy-limited needn’t necessarily mean not doing anything at all, but rather that I need to find the right project and the right people to work with to make the most of what I have to offer.

So I need to find myself things to do whereby I can inspire and facilitate things for other people to pull off: kind of like a producer on a film – which is, interestingly, one of the projects I’m considering.

Like all good executives, what I need is to set up a situation where I can delegate work to the people who can handle it and can fill in for me when I’m not up to the task.  At the same time, it should leave something on my plate to make me feel a) involved and b) useful.  Being a base-touching point-of-contact is perrhaps the ideal situation.

That may all be rubbish, of course, and in fact just be providing a very useful excuse to give me a reason to avoid sitting at my desk and getting any worthwhile writing done, but then I’d hardly be doing myself justice if I wasn’t working hard to avoid working hard.

In fact, trying my best to avoid doing any work appears to be the perfect proof that I need that I must be well on the mend.  If I’m not moaning about not being able to work, then I must be doing my best to avoid doing it when I am able.

Most people would think that ironic, I know.  Lucy I’m not most people.

And Sunday’s show was spectacular – with a capital Spec.

Undaunted by a day spent running here there and everywhere trying to fit in as much technical work as possible and still have a chance to rehearse their pieces, all of the groups absolutely shone and truly showed the talents with which Suzanne and I have been working for the last 5 years.

In the whole process of seeing all of the kids and young people on stage, I even managed to forget all the things that were most bothering me about my input (or lack of it) over the last few months and actually take in and appreciate what a huge achievement this show has been not just for the groups involved, but for the whole creative team.

That’s not to say the endeavour didn’t come without it’s price – two days of being laid up in bed not able to do anything more than stumble to and from the bathroom and occasionally as far as the kettle for tea seems to be a pretty high price to pay, but then if it gets me through the rest of the week with no ill-effects then maybe it just proves that I’m learning to listen to my body.

Physically, I handled Sunday really badly. Intent on showing my support to the oldest group by being their for their rehearsal in the afternoon, I completely overlooked the fact that the scheduled break between tech and performance almost never materialises. Rather than getting an hour to take myself back home and recover/carbo-load for the evening, I instead found myself staying at the Theatre and “working” through it.

The quotation marks aren’t meant as a self-depreciating qualifier on the day’s activities, but rather an acknowledgement that for most of Sunday, I was a passenger. Here and there I lent a bit of a helping hand, but really there was nothing to be done that wasn’t a) already covered by someone else, such was the level of organisation or B) physically impossible for me to do.

Strangely, this last fact didn’t seem to perturb me as much as I expected it to. It did cross my mind a couple of times that this time last year I’d have been running all over the place and doing whatever needed doing, whereas this time I was simply sat on the sidelines watching others do the running, but I somehow managed to section it off from the rest of my thoughts.

I suppose it goes back to the train analogy I first wrote about here, and I clearly unconsciously managed to avoid getting on the train of negative thought and instead kept myself where I should be, making the most of the opportunity afforded to our wonderfully talented bunch of youngsters.

The last two days have been pretty tough, and I’ve certainly felt it on my chest, but I’m really hoping that I’ve handled it well enough that it’s not going to be a major set back. The problem with my cruddy lungs, though, is that you just never know.

But it’s another successful MKT production under my belt, another fantastic learning experience, and there is a world of possibilities still out there for me. Here’s hoping I find one to pick up soon.

It appears, having just flitted over to the CF Trust’s message boards, and by looking through my inboxes, that I’ve had people rather worried by disappearing from my blog for the last few days.   Oops.

I assure you, everything is fine.  Certainly improving.

To tell the truth (not sure why I needed to add that, since it hardly pays to lie to oneself on your own blog….) I was bumming myself out, which is why I stopped for a bit.

Far from reminding myself to Smile Through It and keep on finding the positives in the darker times of life, I found that every time I started writing a post on the blog in the last few weeks, it’s only been to say either that I feel like cr*p or that nothing’s changed for the better.  Even the times when things had changed for the better, the change seemed so infinitesimal and pathetic that it either wasn’t worth mentioning, or served only to lower my despondency about how I’ve been doing.

It’s been weird to find myself trapped in a vicious circle of negative thought, and not something I’ve been used to in life.  Most times, my dark periods inhabit the odd spell of a week or so before things conspire to kick me up the butt and show me the way to carry on.  This latest down-turn has been different, though.

I don’t know if it’s the increased fear of mortality (or, “Am I gonna kick it?” as I prefer to call it) or the impairment to my quality of life inherent in having sunshine blazing through the windows but not enough energy to leave the apartment and enjoy it, but I’ve been lost in a mire of negativity for the last few weeks from which I seemed to have lost the map that usually provides my guide.

Sure, I’ve had good moments – I’ve managed to share Easter with the families around me, I’ve shared a little laughter with friends, I’ve even managed a trip to Borders (hurrah!), but there has been an overwhelming sense of good, old-fashioned, Dickensian melancholy hanging over me throughout.

It’s not that I entirely lost perspective on the whole thing: last week I was sitting a the funeral of a young girl who’s been an almost constant fixture of my working life for the last six years, since she’s been coming to the MK Youth Theatre sessions since their inception.  Sitting in the packed church among many young people experiencing their first distressing taste of grief, I realised that the very day I hit my lowest point – Sunday 1st April, as documented here previously – her Mum, Dad, younger brother and Grandparents were waking up to a new world without their beloved daughter.  How could I complain about pain in my life when held up against the pain of a parent outliving their child?

I’ve still appreciated each day I’ve been given, but it sticks in my proverbial craw (I’ve never really known what that means, but it seems to fit here, anyway…) that “making the most of it” is limited to sitting in the chair at the bay window using the bright sunlight to read by, as opposed the to dim interior light all through winter.

Finally, though, after weeks of dragging myself through the rough parts of every day and persevering in ways I wasn’t even sure I was capable of, I seem to have made it out the other side.

That’s not to say things are all bright and rosy, but I have at least got the energy to pop over to my ‘rents and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine if I want to, or to sit in the study and surf the ‘net a while without completely exhausting myself and having to collapse into bed.

I’m able finally to contemplate looking at the next issue of CF Talk, which has been sitting unattended on my desk for nearly 2 months now and is in dire need of completion.  I’m able to think about the other writing projects I was looking at before and see if I can rekindle the spark that was there before.  I’m able to focus my mind on something other than how my chest is feeling or whether or not I should stay in bed rather than move to the sofa.

I’ve one more negativity-hurdle to overcome, and that will be over after the weekend.

This Sunday sees the Activ8 Youth Theatre show at MKT take place, an event which was to have been my first opportunity to get stuck in to directing a short piece for the Youth Theatre and to benefit the CF Trust.  If I’m honest, I saw it as something of a swansong with them, acknowledging as I have to the likelihood that my involvement is being compelled by my chest to end.

Rather than a happy ending, though, it’s going to be an extremely tough one to get through.  Not just physically, although I can’t pretend that that’s not going to be a challenge in itself,  but because I’ve ended up having almost nothing to do with the finished product.  Three weeks’ of rehearsal in a 12 week term doesn’t amount to a contribution, in my mind, and the work I had hoped to see up on the stage is now more likely to bring me down than uplift me.

I wanted so much to make this something to remember – an event that showed the Theatre’s support not just for the CF Trust, but for the whole Youth Theatre, and a true showcase of the talent which has been nurtured through Activ8 over the last half a decade.  And don’t get me wrong – it is still very much all of those things.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s anything to do with me.  I feel like a passenger, an outsider, something akin to a “consultant” who’s seen parts of the process leading up to performance and had a little input, but not someone who forms part of the “team” whose talents are being showcased.

I know that people will shout me down and will be quick to try to dissuade all of my fears and make me feel a part of it, but I can’t get passed the fact that I’ve not been there for them or with them for pretty much the entire term.  This is their show and their showcase, and it’s nothing to do with me any more.  That saddens me, and it’s going to be hard, but nothing will stop me being their to support them.

I am trying to keep my air of positivity and move forward from here – and I know I will continue to progress – but I also know that this weekend is going to be a really tough one to get through.

Thanks to everyone for your good vibes, your love and prayers over the last few weeks.  They really do make a difference, and they have helped me enormously.  I shall endeavour to keep up with my more regular out-put of the past, as I will endeavour to keep myself looking up and not down, forward and not back.

Keep on truckin’.

On top of the new play, there are more things bubbling along in the Oli-melting pot at the moment, all grabbing my attention here, there and everywhere – that’s how I love it, though.

First off, and most importantly, there’s the Activ8 Youth Theatre show at Milton Keynes Theatre, which is coming up on April 22nd and is coming together really nicely in rehearsals at the moment. We’re currently chatting about marketing strategies and getting all the info on the show out to a wider audience than would normally support a Youth Theatre show, mostly because a) the kids and young people taking part really deserve a full house to show what they’ve achieved and b) it’s all in aid of the CF Trust.

So if you’ve nothing in your diary for April 22nd, click here NOW and book your tickets to come and see the show. It’s going to be a knock-out and the earlier you book, the better seats you’ll get, because they’re all priced at a fiver – that’s cheaper than a night at the cinema!

Beyond April, the LLTGL team have a couple of projects we’re starting to look at, including looking ahead to a repeat of Laughter for Life next March, following the immense success of this year’s show.

We’re also looking at the possibility of organising some kind of a rally – maybe in super-cheap cars – which would take place in early autumn and involve a jaunt around the British Isles in some form or other. And, naturally, would end in a nice big party when you reach the finish.

There’s lots of good ideas bouncing about and I think it’s something we’re going to pursue soon, but it’s just a case of nailing down the format and looking at logistics and things like that.

Keep your eyes peeled for more info as and when.

On top of all of that, I’ve got the new issue of CF Talk to turn around and get off to the designers so we can get it out at leat vaguely in the right timescale. OK, so it’s still going to be as late as ever, but I promise it’s going to be good.

If you’re not already on the mailing list to receive CF Talk and you’d like to (it’s free, from the CF Trust) just email here with your name and full address and we’ll make sure you get a copy.

So just a few bits and bobs going on for the moment – nothing too drastic.

Oh, and I also received an email from Bill Bryson yesterday, letting me know how hugely successfully the organ donor campaign has been going at Durham University, where he is currently chancellor. Not only that, but that he was taking the campaign idea to chancellors of all the other uni’s today to see if we can’t take it nationwide.

I met Bill around this time last year at the CF Trust’s Breathing Life Awards and immediately hi-jacked him for an interview with CF Talk at some point later in the year. Sure enough, he obliged only to happily and our brief 15-20 minute phone chat turned into nearly an hour.

In the middle of the call, while I was supposed to be interviewing him, I mentioned the fact that I was waiting for a transplant (it was actually in the context of a question about holiday destinations) and he turned the interview around and positively grilled me (in the nicest possible way) about transplants, the organ donor register and the problems that we have with donation in this country.

From then on, things seemed to take a life of their own and it only seemed that a light jogging was needed from Bill to his students for them to shoot off and go crazy with the idea – running off T-shirts and organising the campaign with amazing professionalism, it would seem.

Apparently, although I’ve yet to see the “merchandise”, it all centres around the hook, “My friend Oli…”. Being the naturally shy, introverted type that I am, I obviously feel very uncomfortable about all of this, and the prospect of yet more attention being focused not only on Transplant, but on me personally. However, sometimes in life you have to make personal sacrifices for a greater cause, and I feel that this is one of those times.

I mean, come on, a campaign named after me!?! Pretty soon it won’t be lack of portable oxygen keeping me in the house, it’ll be a head too big to go through the door….

It’s been a bit of a weird week this week – I appear to have been either out of the house working or running errands, or asleep.  It’s a bit all-or-nothing.

After travelling home on Monday I was shattered, but ok with a bit of an afternoon nap, then I had Tuesday morning to laze around before being on Taxi duty for K (through choice not compulsion, I must add).

Then yesterday, K started her new job (yay!), which meant I was up at 8am to get her there (boo), and then found myself coming home and passing out on the bed again till the afternoon – not intentionally, but when your body’s bossing you around after a weekend like mine, you listen.

Then last night it was back to normality with my session at MKT with the Youth Theatre.

I say “normality”, but it’s not every week that I get to spend 20 minutes shooting part of a short film with Samantha Janus just after she’s come off stage in Guys and Dolls.  Even by my celeb-bumping-into standards, this was a bit on the surreal side, my friend Helen (who’s the dep wardrobe mistress on the show) having spoken to her and got her to agree to do us a favour and pop up in cameo in our opening film for the YT show.

She was lovely, and very accomodating, especially since we literally accosted her straight off stage, at a time when I would imagine most performers just want to be left alone to veg out – especially with another show starting in just over 2 hour’s time.  But she happily stood around and delivered her line of dialogue for us enough times for us to cover it and we left her to it.

The rehearsal itself was very good again.  I spent the first part working with the Chorus on the piece I’d written, which was good fun, although slightly odd to be blocking something I’ve had in my head.  It’s what I love about working with performers, though, because it really gives you a chance to work through things and see how they work -and if it’s your own script, you can chop it and change it as much as you like.

The second half of the session was back with my Hamlet trio, who again worked diligently and have formed a great little grouping.  They were struggling slightly to get to the meaning behind some of the Shakespearean waffle, but we worked through it and managed to get through to what lies underneath the flowery poetry and make it make a bit more sense.

Although the show’s not too far away now (and if they’re reading this, they really need to be learning their lines!!), I think this piece has the potential to really show how talented some of our young people are.  Combined with the piece that Suze is directing – called After Juliet, a modern take on the aftermath of the Romeo and Juliet story – it’s a chance for our older members to really show some flair for the dramatic, and we both know that they’ve got the range and the power to do it.

That’s not to say it’s not going to take a considerable amount of work on their part, and support for them on ours, but if the work goes into it, they could make it something really special.  Of course, if they don’t, there’s the worrying prospect of it coming out as a group of youngsters lost in a mire of misunderstood poetry.  But that’s the challenge.

I’m hoping that this weekend is going to provide a nice window of relaxation for me – a chance to stay in bed, or veg on the sofa and do as little as possible, whilst shoe-horning as many calories as possible down my throat to keep energy levels high and infections at bay.

It may have left me struggling for energy, but I’m determined that the weekend isn’t going to take me down!

Well… wow.

Over the course of the last 7 or 8 weeks since I first officially came on board the Laughter for Life project, I’ve sat down or laid in bed at night and thought about how it was going to go and ru all kinds of best-case/worst-case scenarios through my brain. But none of them came even close to last night.

It was, without doubt, one of the best nights of my life and one of my greatest achievements. I felt both proud and piviledge to be part of such a spectacular and succesful event and I can’t even begin to express my gratitude to all of those who were involved, helped out, donated or just encouraged us to do it.

Shattered now, yes, but boy was it worth it.

We didn’t have access to the space until 6 o’clock, so we turned up en masse at the venue around 5.30 to put our stuff down in our function room and lay out our battle plan. Emma, myself, Paula and Rose all took on various jobs without much discussion and everyone just seemed to fit in around what we were doing.

I don’t want this to be a stupidly prolonged thank you session, but I think it’s safe to say that without the assistance of the “significant others” – Brad, K and Julian – things would have been a lot more bumpy.

I left everyone to handle the front-of-house goings on and found my way to the auditorium and found Suze all ready and raring to go as our Stage Manager for the evening. I had no idea that she was going to be as busy as she was – having assured her it was just going to be a case of jogging each act with a 5 minute call before they were due on stage.

As it happened, she was completely invaluable, doing all the legwork that I couldn’t have done. I think our partnership for the night was rather like the proverbial swan, with me sitting serenly above the water looking calm and controlled and marshalling people here and there, whilst Suze paddled away furiously under the surface making sure everything I was marshalling was where it should be to be marshalled.

The acts all turned up in plenty of time (more of an achievement than you’d have thought, let me assure you) and were absolutely brilliant to a man. Kind, generous and fun to chat to, I managed to have a good giggle before we even got to the show itself.

I had Rob, my documentary cameraman, following me around getting all the madness on tape, so it’s going to be interesting to look back on it in a few month’s time and see just how calm I was (or wasn’t!) looking.

We had just over an hour to get everything set up, including rigging a follow spot, getting the band set up and sound-checked and giving the acts a chance to familiarise themselves with the space and the set-up.

They all wandered on stage from the green room just before we opened the house (let the audience in) and chatted with the band to arrange their walk-on music, which was great for them to be able to choose. The house band – Big Buzzard – were brilliant and added such a sheen of professionalism to the whole event.

They were something of a last-minute addition, having offered up their services at relatively short notice, but I’m so glad we took them up on their offer – they really added that extra dimension to the show.

The show itself was simply stunning. The entire bill was nothing short of hilarious and several times throughout the even I thought I was in danger of embarrassing myself with loss of bladder control. If I’d not be tied to an oxygen cylinder, I’d have been rolling in the aisles.

Bill Bailey strung the whole thing together perfectly – giving everyone perfectly distilled little pieces of his humour whilst linking between the acts.  Geoff Whiting, Glenn Wool and Rob Rouse tore through the first half and had me coughing with laughter the whole way.  After the break, I had managed to compose myself enough to be less of a distraction through Ian Stone and Dara O’Briain’s sets.

During the interval, I popped backstage to the Green Room to grab a fresh O2 cylinder – it being the nearest secure place to leave them through the show – and was planning on heading out front to catch up with all the various friends who’d made the effort to come along.

As it was, I ended up in a really long chat with Rob, Glenn, Dara and Ian about my O2 and then segued into CF and its various effects/characteristics.  They were all genuinely interested and keen to learn, and being the Ambassador I am, I’m never going to pass up an opportunity to educate people on CF!

After the show, I was keen to make sure everything got sorted backstage, but was hurriedly ushered off to make my presence at the after-show drinks reception felt.  Although I think what I actually ended up doing was making sure that Richard Madeley understood all of my gobbledigook on his crib sheet for the auction.

Emma stood up and started things off with a run of thank yous and talked for a bit about where the money we raised was going and what we were all here for.  I then followed up with a brief heartstring-plucker to get everyone in the mood to dig deep in their pockets for the auction itself.

I have to say I’d not done any prep for it apart from thinking about my opening line, and I was pretty impressed with what I came up with.  I knew I’d have to talk about some difficult stuff, but I think I’m so used to it now, it just rattles off without me having to think about it too much.

It seemed to set the tone well though, (“Thanks a f**king lot” was Richard’s response when he took the mic from me) and the auction went really well.  Considering all the lots we had were donated for nothing, everything we cleared was money straight in our boxes and we did a great run for 11 lots – over £1,800.

That figure will be swelled over the coming few days with cash from programme sales and the collecting buckets (somewhere in the region of £1,200), and individual donations (which is currently overr £1,000 and expected to rise) – all of which is to be added to our ticket sales, which is somewhere around £15,000.  All told, we’re looking pretty good to hit £20,000 for the whole night – an astounding and truly humbling amount of money.

If you’d like to donate, please please please do – you do it safe and securely (and anonymously, if you wish) at our Just Giving page here.

I think one of the biggest compliments of the night for me, though, was to hear today that there were people in the audience who had no idea they were at a charity gig at all – they had bought their tickets purely on the strength of the bill we presented (no pun intended) and when they realised it was for charity and learned about the cause, couldn’t wait to dig into their pockets and drop cash in our collecting buckets.

I said last week that this whole experience had taught me how wonderful people can be and to believe in the spirit of human nature and it’s only been reinforced over the last couple of days.

This whole event has been one of the greatest – and most rewarding – experiences of my life and I have to thank Emma and Emily not only for letting me be a part of the project they started, but for allowing me to feel so much a part of the team and the cause.

If you’re not already signed up to the organ donor register, you have time to do it now.  If you’ve just read through the whole of this blog entry, you clearly don’t have enough to do today, so you’ve got enough time to take out 2 minutes of your time to go to www.uktransplant.org.uk and sign up right now – it’s fast, it’s electronic and it could make a difference to up to 9 other people’s lives.

Don’t let your death be in vain, and don’t let the 400 people who died last year while waiting for a transplant have passed for nothing.  If there’s any message that should come from this weekend, it’s Live Life Then Give Life.